tip-toe upon a little hill
by Cora Clavia
Summary: As much as Peggy prefers to keep her private life as private as possible, there are times when even an experienced agent needs to tip her hand.


_I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,_

 _The air was cooling, and so very still_

After seven hours in the back of a cargo truck, Peggy is relatively sure her legs no longer work.

They rumble into camp and Falsworth appears at the back of the truck to open it up. He obligingly gives her a hand as she clambers down from the truckbed, letting out an _oof_ as her feet hit the bumpy, uneven dirt. "Agent Carter. Welcome back to camp."

"Major. So nice to be here." In the overwhelmingly American camp, she and Falsworth have bonded over their shared homeland, and to date, he's the only person here who truly shares her dry sense of humor. "You didn't have to break out the good china."

"His Majesty insisted, ma'am. We'll have fireworks for you later."

"When did you get back?"

The Howling Commandos had left a week ago, on whatever exciting, secret new mission London had called in for them. They'd been scheduled to return tomorrow.

"Just now, actually. Quicker march than expected." He tipped his beret to her. "If you'll excuse me, fair lady. I have several days' worth of sleep to collect on."

* * *

After a quick stop at the colonel's headquarters to check in, Peggy decides she has time to stop at the radio tent and see what new messages have come in.

She's halfway there when the tent flap opens and a familiar figure steps out. She takes a breath, willing away the sudden rush of girlish adrenaline.

"Steve? Were you looking for me?"

He looks up, startled; clearly, he wasn't expecting to see her. His ears go red, and it's so intensely precious she can't help but smile. "I, um – just – wanted to say hello."

Peggy folds her arms. "It's adorable that you think you can tell a convincing lie."

His whole face is red, and he shoots her a penitent look. "I'm sorry."

"Is there something you need?"

"Well, no. I just – wanted to – leave you something."

There's a delightfully guilty look on his handsome face, like she just caught him stealing the last cookie. He stares at his shoes, and Peggy laughs. "Relax, Captain. You're not in trouble."

Curiosity wins out, and she peers inside the tent. Her desk is next to the door, and she looks down to find –

"Flowers?"

There's a battered tin cup on her desk filled with a bouquet of wildflowers. White and sunny yellow and rich blue and violet, a riotous mess of blossoms that spill over the sides, and she catches her breath, because it's the single loveliest thing she's seen in a long, long time.

"Oh, Steve," she murmurs, running her fingers over the silky petals. "They're beautiful."

His face lights up.

"We came back through this field full of them, and I thought you might like some," he admits, hands shoved in his pockets. "They made me think of you."

Sometimes she can't quite figure him out, this unlikely boy from Brooklyn. The great war hero who's actually one of the gentlest men she's ever met.

Peggy's trying to find something to say, because _thank you_ isn't enough, when Dugan appears, clapping Steve hard on the shoulder.

"Hey, flower boy! Where'd you put those nice posies?" Dugan whistles. "Should've seen him, Peg. Traipsing across the Alps with his pretty little daisies. Like a little milkmaid."

Steve meets her eyes ruefully, and Peggy can only imagine the last day of that hike back over the Alps. Shield on his back, his hands full of flowers, teased mercilessly by his fellow soldiers. She knows the Commandos. They must have had quite a time of it.

"You gave 'em to her, did you?" Dugan grins widely. "Very clever."

Even the tips of Steve's ears are scarlet at this point, and as much as Peggy prefers to keep her private life as private as possible, there are times when even an experienced agent needs to tip her hand. Strategically.

So she grabs Steve by the lapels, tugs him down to her, and kisses him firmly on the mouth.

It's a sudden shock, the quick, bright, heady flush of a first kiss she's imagined too many times, and for all her planning and scheming and cleverness, she feels girlish. It's sweet and a little shy and it's a stolen moment from a more innocent life, the one he belongs in.

When she pulls back, Steve's looking at her, dazed, and she can't help but smile at the traces of red lipstick on his mouth.

Good.

"Thank you, Steve."


End file.
